Promises
by Brochelle
Summary: A week ago, the suit had been a promise to himself. As the days wore on it became more of a burden than anything else. But at least it would keep them warm. Nick/Rochelle.


When Nick had first arrived in Savannah, the first thing he experienced was an obscene blast of sweltering air, fresh out of the bowels of hell. It was in that moment that he knew that this was the worst decision he'd made in a short while. The consequences of said decision would not make themselves obvious for many more days, but Nick knew he'd regret getting off the bus. He knew it was a strange sureness that he could not explain; a sureness that coiled in his stomach, too similar to the cold, heavy weight of fear.

In an attempt to make a good first impression, he'd immediately booked a room at the most expensive hotel in town - the Vannah, though it was mostly for show since the place looked expensive on the outside but a veritable pile of crap on the inside - and had holed up there, doing his research on the town via hotel phone, and plotting his path for the next couple days. He'd favored plans involving the local riverboat cruise circuit, figuring there were plenty of gullible fish who could help him pay his way to a decent life. The days were hot and endless, so he stuck mainly to quiet pool halls and lonely poker rooms, but then night came, and his game was on.

Nights were always the more appealing alternative to the bottomless sky, air that burned in his lungs, and gawking tourists. The air took on a new chill as the sun disappeared over the distant hills, and the stars seemed to suck all the heat out of the world, adding to their crisp sparkling overhead. It was perfect weather, especially for spending a night on the town, and only in the soft glow of the sodium-vapor street lights did he feel truly secure. Nights in Savannah were a busy, exciting affair; it was a time when a whole new flavor of people gathered in the streets to taste the night, to bring life to it, and Nick had no problem slipping into the crowd.

A couple days after he had arrived in Savannah, Nick sought out a tailor and purchased a promise: an expensive, pure white suit, and a silk blue button-up. His success in the city would depend on his appearance - as it would anywhere else - and here, he was intent on making a new face for himself. He spent most of his money on that suit. That suit was indeed his promise to himself for a better life - a new life, founded in Georgia, far from the troubles he had faced in Texas.

You didn't have to be rich in this business, he reasoned. You only had to look it.

The suit looked nice in the clubs, giving him a spectral appearance whenever he arrived in a room, his white getup veiled in the heavy smoke. At night, the suit was perfect. In the day time, however, the suit was a smothering blanket around him. He soon began to avoid wearing it. The unforgiving Georgia sun came close to roasting him alive the first time he tried to wear it out in broad daylight. In fact, the last time he had worn that suit was to go play pool in the hotel's own lonely bar.

That had been the night before everything went to hell, and he'd been forced to run through the city in the godforsaken thing while gunning down the undead in the streets, and lopping off decaying limbs with an axe.

But now, curled up inside a safe house buried deep in some forgotten swamp, the air frigid and unmoving, he was glad of his suit. Granted, the expensive white fabric was stained with dried bile and blood, ripped by stray katana slices, and permanently creased at the joints, but they were still layers, and they still retained warmth. A week ago, he would have hated his suit for this very reason. Now, it was the only comfort he could still count on.

For now, at least.

Nick exhaled and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cracked, concrete wall. He listened to the swamp's music - to the cicadas, the bullfrogs, the crickets, the zombies - and tried to discern them. It was a hopeless effort, as the sounds blended together into a toneless mass of notes, and soon enough, he was bored again.

It had been - what, five minutes? Tops? With a groan, Nick massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, mentally going down the list of things that could occupy him - a list of activities that had kept him sane when he was in jail, and when he had been stuck in his room in the Vannah, hiding from the-

Across the room, a shadow detached itself from the darkness and drew itself up, stretching leisurely. The shadow gave a sigh and slouched over as it tugged at its hair, tied back in a bun and spilling over its shoulders. Quietly, Rochelle walked over and stood against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting comfortably. She crossed her legs at the ankles of her boots, and folded her hands on her stomach. Looking at Nick, she gave him a warm half-smile.

"Didn't think it'd be this cold, in the South," the woman whispered. She grabbed at her arms and rubbed them fiercely, trying to restore whatever warm remained in her bones. Looking into the deepest shadows of the safe house, she said, "Maybe I was just thinking of Texas."

Nick coughed awkwardly. His breath fogged into the air, soon tugged away by a slight breeze. He shivered.

"Sun's rising already," Rochelle noted with distaste. "We've got maybe two more hours of sleep before Coach'll have us moving again." She wriggled, moving closer to Nick as she wrung her hands, trying to warm her numb fingers. "Here's hoping we don't run into any Tanks."

Across the room, Ellis stirred in his sleep; he grumbled unintelligibly, rolling over to face the undecorated wall. Nick and Rochelle watched in hushed silence. As soon as the mechanic fell quiet, Nick laughed shortly, exhaling a cloud of his own breath again.

"You've gone and jinxed us, Ro," he muttered.

"Psh. Not like that time you claimed there'd be no Witches in the sewers?"

"Hey, if those crazy bitches were smart, they'd-"

"-Uh huh. Yeah."

Nick shook his head and smiled. Looking at Rochelle, the grin faded into that familiar smirk, but it didn't lose any of its sincerity. A few moments passed as he stared at her, following the curve of her where her chin met with her full lips. Her own smile melted away into a daring grin, and Nick found himself mirroring it as he leaned closer.

But then her eyes crinkled at the edges, and she burst into laughter. She buried her face into her hands to smother her mirth.

Nick couldn't help but start laughing too, albeit quieter, as he moved away. Examining what he could see of her face, he chuckled and asked, "What?"

"I actually thought-"

The words dispersed into laughter, muted by her hands over her mouth, and Nick took his hand away from her wrist. The smile lingered on his face - suspended there by momentary disappointment - as he watched her regain her composure.

Rochelle looked at him and smiled. "Wow. Uh."

Nick rolled his eyes and looked away.

"You were really going to-?"

He offered a shrug, and said, "Mm. I thought about it."

"Wow. That's - wow."

"Yeah."

Rochelle exhaled, making a noise of disbelief. "Wow."

"You said that already," Nick noted.

She fell quiet, and the con man listened to the swamp outside. Coach began to snore, and Ellis gave another low mumble, accompanied by the rustle of blankets as the kid rolled over again. The sky outside was gaining a faint glow, starting at the horizon and bleeding into the night, wearing away at the stars. The trees grew discernible as dawn approached. Milling around the trunks and in the water, were countless numbers of the Infected, heedless of their presence.

Rochelle shifted, leaning her head against Nick's shoulder.

"I know," she mumbled. Sleep weighed heavily on her words, drawing them out and making them sluggish. "It didn't sound right the first time I said it."

"So you said it again."

"Mhm."

Birdsong erupted outside, filling the air with the morning's natural mayhem. Somewhere a Smoker choked and spat, coughing as it dragged itself through the swamp. Nick found Rochelle's hand and they entwined fingers.

"You cold?" he asked suddenly.

"A little, yeah."

Nick pushed away from the wall and shrugged off his precious jacket. He draped it over Rochelle's shoulders, then rested back against the wall. The cold air bit at the skin under his dress shirt, but he ignored it as he wrapped his arm around Rochelle and pulled her closer to him. She tugged at the lapel of the jacket around her and sighed.

"Good now?"

Rochelle mumbled her affirmation. Her eyes closed and her face relaxed as she drifted off into sleep.

She looked younger now.

"You thought about that, then?" Rochelle suddenly said.

Nick scoffed. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."

"Mm. Good to know I wasn't the only one."

Nick squeezed her shoulder and rested his cheek against the crown of her head, listening to the world wake up.

_**A/N: Written for Rainy.**_


End file.
